


Grazioso

by rukafais



Series: an endless song [11]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 00:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19140163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rukafais/pseuds/rukafais
Summary: meaning: gracefullyGrimm and water don't mix. In front of his musician, though, he can never resist a chance to show off.





	Grazioso

The Troupe’s most recent stop is a maze of caves and tunnels deep underground. Grimm views it with a vaguely contemplative air, clearly reminded of something else, but mostly he views it with the slight disdain he reserves for any land with too much water for his liking. It’s chilly and damp, and water collects in every crevice, creating everything from puddles to lakes to what seems like limitless inland seas. The only good thing about this place, as far as the Troupe Master is concerned, is that the water reflects the glow of the little creatures and strange growths that have made this dying, crumbling land their own.

Brumm finds the acoustics fascinating, and wanders here and there, testing out the sounds of his instruments. His beloved accordion has a thorough warming-up as his music echoes throughout the caves, filling dead silence with temporary life. He finds marks on the stone that lead him elsewhere; holes and formations that change the sounds of his instrument into eerie and wonderful noises.

It’s rare for him to be so animated.

(Grimm amends the list in his head, begrudgingly. _Two_ good things about this damp and chilly place. But he’ll still be glad to leave it, even though the shy delight on his musician’s face is making their work more bearable.)

Divine is entirely content, as usual. She fishes merrily and with no fear, confident that anything the pools contain are no match for her, and cackles at the looks on Grimm and Brumm’s faces when she brings back yet another wriggling, tough-shelled thing she intends to make them try.

The novices giggle and titter until Grimm chases them around the tents and threatens to let Divine use them as bait (a thing that she entirely encourages). Brumm just eats quietly, ignoring the chaos around him and contemplating the taste.

“It’s not bad,” he says, thoughtfully.

(Divine cackles still more when Grimm begrudgingly sits down and tries it himself, after that.

He does have to admit it’s not as awful as he thought it would be, but on the whole he prefers food he doesn’t have to fish around to catch.)

“Not to your tastes, master?” Divine’s grin is only slightly mocking.

Grimm stares at her, crams his portion into his mouth without bothering to remove the shell, and crushes it to pieces by sheer brute force. He swallows the shattered remains, locking eyes with her the entire time.

“It’s perfectly to my tastes, Divine,” he says, and his voice is only slightly muffled by the shell fragments he’s yet to force down his throat. “As always, you’ve done a wonderful job.”

“You should have some more, since you like it so much! Go ahead, I insist! It’s not often that I share, master! You should take advantage!”

“I couldn’t possibly take your meal from you. It would be a waste of all your effort!”

Brumm looks between the two of them, shakes his head, and continues to eat quietly.

* * *

In sharp contrast to Grimm’s clear and understandable distaste for water, Brumm enjoys it. When he’s not playing his music or exploring every nook and cranny of this seemingly empty land with his usual care, he takes to swimming.

He occasionally does laps, an exercise that his master doesn’t particularly understand the purpose of, but more often he dives; not looking for anything much and finding them anyway. He finds little things in shallow pools - broken trinkets and tools, words carved into submerged walls that he doesn’t understand - and the evidence of grand ruins in the great, deep lakes that are still and eerily clear, disappearing into darkness.

Brumm doesn’t go down there. He knows better than to delve too deep.

(Practically, he can’t hold his breath that long, and he doesn’t want to test the Troupe’s protection against a lack of air. Spiritually--

\--the Troupe has one foot in the living realm, and one in the realm of dream. They stand at an eternal crossroads. It gives them certain senses that others wouldn’t have.

Something terrible clings to the old kingdom drowned in the deep. He can feel it crawling, _moving_ , tickling the edges of his vision and his consciousness.

The flames will purge it; the waters will rise anew and wash it away clean. But until that dance is done, something virulent, sick - violent and _old_ \- still seethes below, and he stays away.)

Grimm lounges at the water’s edge quite often, watching him. When he’s not busy gathering flames, being tormented by (or tormenting) Divine, or wandering the caves himself, cape wrapped tight to keep out the cold and damp, he seems magnetically attracted to Brumm’s aquatic endeavors.

“Is water really that entertaining?” Grimm asks, from his position on the lake’s shore. His fingertips stir the water, causing ripples, but he seems reluctant to go any further than that. Brumm hums in thought and swims over (and resists the urge to splash him, just to see him startle).

“You could see for yourself,” he suggests, and Grimm huffs, flicking droplets off his fingers in slow, deliberate movements. He tucks his arms under his chin, propping his head up.

“Fire and water don’t mix, my friend. Surely you know that.”

“Mrmm, but _you_ aren’t made of fire, master,” Brumm points out, paddling his way to the shore and pushing himself out of the water. He shakes himself off, fur fluffing out as he does so. Grimm has no answer ready for that.

“I still don’t know what you see in it,” Grimm says with a dramatic sigh. “You spend more time in there than with me.”

(It’s an exaggeration; he has his duties, and this once, Brumm isn’t able to help much. They only have so much time for frivolous behaviour, and even if he has his work to do, it’s nice to see Brumm relax.)

“You could always try.”

“I’d rather not.”

But he considers it, all the same. More and more, as time passes, and he waits for the Grimmkin to fly about into places he can’t go and scrape the land clean.

There’s no harm in trying, he thinks. But if he has to touch water, he’ll do it in his own way; swimming doesn’t suit him. (It had suited some of his predecessors, certainly. But him? He doesn’t think so.)

He extends a hand and traces patterns on the water with a fingertip, deep in thought.

(“I’ll give you a push if you get cold feet, master!” Divine says cheerfully.

Grimm doesn’t even dignify that with a response.)

* * *

Brumm finds his master at the shore of one of the smaller lakes.

It is still; no motion, no breath of wind, ripples its surface. Grimm can see himself staring into the water, a perfect mirror. The lake shines; some sort of luminescent growth in the depths makes it a source of splendid illumination, if apparently lifeless.

(But something will thrive here, once they’re done. It always does.

Sometimes, occasionally, he feels a sting of regret that it is not his role to see such a thing through.)

“Mrmm. Planning to go swimming, master?”

It’s said as much in jest as anything; Brumm clearly doesn’t expect anything to come from it.

“Swimming doesn’t suit me, my dear friend,” Grimm says breezily in return, touching the lake’s still surface lightly with a clawed foot. The ripples spread, in the absence of anything to interrupt or disturb them.

He takes a step forward, and another, and another. It’s difficult to walk on water without breaking surface tension, not when the water heats and boils under him with every touch, threatening to disturb his focus. A balancing act on an element his nature finds disagreeable at best.

But it’s just another tightrope, in the end. Just another show, walking on the knife’s edge.

He turns sharply, cape swirling behind him with the suddenness of the movement, and extends a hand to his musician.

“My dear Brumm, may I have this dance?”

Brumm laughs, already breathless, his expression and smile bright. Rather than answer with words, he lets his actions speak for him, and takes Grimm’s hand.

* * *

Brumm is hesitant when he steps forward (who wouldn’t be?), but his worries are for naught; the surface of the lake might as well be solid ground. His master’s hand is an anchor; it barely strains as he lifts Brumm, like he weighs nothing at all.

It’s a dizzying experience, dancing on water. He expects to sink and meets resistance - tension - instead. Grimm, of course, doesn’t falter at all; he spins and twirls, leaving rippling paths in his wake, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He leads Brumm in an elegant, curving dance, skating on water like it means nothing.

(Grimm is tense, his focus ironclad, the set of his body rigid rather than fluid, flexible, as it normally would be. To say he doesn’t enjoy water would be an understatement.

But still, he’s done this for him. An attempt to find enjoyment in something that his musician enjoys, a compromise.)

“This is...difficult for you, master,” Brumm says, after a moment; it’s not a question. The laugh that comes from Grimm is both startled and resigned; his musician knows him too well to let such things slide.

“It’s worth it,” the Troupe Master replies, with a smile (a little strained, a little tight, from the amount of effort he exerts), “for you.”

Brumm pulls him down, pressing his forehead to Grimm’s, bringing them both to a stop in the middle of the lake. For a moment, he’s content to stand there (to freeze this bright moment, to preserve it in his memory - Grimm’s hands on his, both of them lit from below, a still and perfect stage).

He lets it stretch out a little longer, savouring it, before he carefully unhooks his instrument from his back. He can start the song one-handed, and after it starts, it won’t matter if he lets go.

The melody he’d played when they first met, the one he can play without failing or faltering, soars to the cavern’s roof and fills the empty air with sound. The water sings in response, vibrating in a way they can both feel underneath them.

(Grimm's expression is soft and awestruck in a way that Brumm rarely sees. It makes his heart skip like it's trying to make up for lost time.)

Grimm is careful not to interrupt his musician’s playing; he pulls away from him at first, to skim the surface of the water, to leap and spin and trace complex patterns on the lake’s surface. But he always comes back to Brumm, making him the center of the performance, the heart of the act.

His master laughs as he dances, free and unrestrained. The sound mingles with the song in a way that, Brumm thinks, makes it more beautiful than it’s ever been before.

**Author's Note:**

> listen, i love dancing ok


End file.
